


feel like you're falling

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: As always, Clarke has a plan.And true to form, Bellamy is into it but also a little bit overwhelmed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to just be a ficlet but, uh, shit happens.

Clarke wrinkled her nose at him over her red plastic cup and Bellamy grinned.  “Not a fan, princess?”  He had given her that nickname their first week of school and at the time he’d meant it as an insult, but now— with half the people in their dorm moved out and the rest of them frazzled by finals— it felt different.  He was fond of her, despite their rough start.  And after Miller and Octavia, she was probably his closest friend.

“Yeah, who would have thought four different kinds of alcohol wouldn’t taste good all mixed together,” she said dryly.

“It’s five, actually.  Murphy left behind some Mike’s Hard Lemonade.”

Clarke mimed a gag.  “So that’s what that taste is,” she said, setting her cup down.  “I can’t decide if this is the worst or best idea Jasper’s ever had.”

Across the crowded room the man in question finished slurping down his jungle juice to raucous cheers and Clarke chewed on her lip.  “Everything okay?” Bellamy asked, and if you told him the day he moved in that one day he would ask the girl upstairs with the perfectly-matched dorm set if she was okay and  _ mean it, _  he’d have laughed in your face.

But that was before she stumbled on him in a study room having a full on meltdown over his Biology exam.  After all his sneers and sarcastic comments he expected her to laugh in his face, not fork over her flashcards and stay with him until he could recite every single stupid process from memory.  He couldn’t hate her after that, but they weren’t quite friends— not until the day she missed Econ thanks to food poisoning and he had shown up at her door with all the notes. (He could have emailed them to her, but then he wouldn’t have been able to go heat up her ramen in the communal kitchen.)

He already regretted those first few months they spent hissing and snarling at each other and was determined to make up for it however he could.  Clarke shook her head  _ no _  at his question but Bellamy knew her well enough by now to know when she was hiding something.  He raised his eyebrows and she glanced around the room before jerking her chin towards the door.  Bellamy drained his cup— it tasted like death, she was right— and set it on the corner of Jasper’s desk.

The hallway was eerily quiet and cool compared to the humid heat and crowd in Jasper and Monty’s room.  “What is it?” he asked.

Clarke furrowed her brow and waved at Roan, who poked his head out of the RA room at the end of the hall.  Technically they were breaking about a dozen rules with this party, but Roan had never really seemed to care so long as they kept it to a dull roar.  Plus he appeared to have a soft spot for Clarke, a fact that rankled Bellamy quite a bit more than he’d like to admit.  Roan waved back and Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s arm, dragging him into the room that used to belong to Sterling and Riley.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, perching on the edge of the stripped-bare bed.  “But it’s...kind of weird.”  

“You already know that I had a crush on Artemis when I was seven.  Weird is okay with us.”

“Yeah, but that was cute-weird.”

“She’s the Greek goddess of the hunt, Clarke.  It’s more than a little weird.”

That brought a smile to her face and the tightness in his chest eased.  He hated seeing her anxious.  “Okay, well— promise me that when I say this, if it’s out of line or weirds you out or anything, you’ll just say no and it won’t ruin things.”

“Things?”

“Us.  Our friendship.”

“We’re friends?” he teased.

“That’s generally what I call the person I talk to the most, yes,” she bantered back, but she was looking worried again.

“Clarke, just—”

“I want to have sex,” she blurted out.

Bellamy blinked.  “Like, in general, or…?”

“With you.”  

It took a moment for the full import of her words to land on him.  “With...me?”

She sucked in a breath.  “Yeah.  I figured— I trust you. And it’s not like I’m waiting on a particular moment or feeling or person, it just hasn’t happened yet.  But I don’t want my first time to be some drunken fumbling mess. Is this weird?  This is weird. Forget it, I shouldn’t have asked,” she said and pushed past him towards the door.

Bellamy caught her arm and spun her back around.  “Wait, you’re…?”

“A virgin,” she said bluntly.

Bellamy tried to cover his surprise but wasn’t entirely successful.  He hadn’t really given the status of her virginity much thought, largely because he felt it was an antiquated, patriarchal concept that wasn’t any of his damn business.  But he knew she’d had a serious girlfriend in high school, and there were plenty of rumors that had ripped through the dorm about her and Finn after their rather dramatic breakup in November.  So if you asked him prior to this moment, he probably would have said she wasn’t, but that was as far as his musings on Clarke’s virginity had gone.  “Why me?” he asked, dropping her arm.  That wasn’t really the main question on his mind, but it definitely was  _ a  _ question on his mind.

She shrugged.  “Like I said, I trust you and I don’t want my first time to be a mess.  I figure you know what you’re doing, so…”

_ Oh. _  He should have guessed.  He hadn’t done much to tamp down the gossip after his three-way makeout with Roma and Bree, but that was because he spent the most of first semester trying to be someone he really, truly wasn’t.  And he had told Clarke about his drunk kisses with Miller, since those happened in January, but they had never bothered to talk about the Halloween party and what might or might not have actually happened.  “Right, well...about that,” he said, sitting down on the plastic mattress.  He hoped this bed had been Sterling’s, if only because he was marginally less gross than Riley.  “I wouldn’t.  Not really.  Not— not any more than you.”

“Wait, Bree said—”

“Bree said a lot of things,” he finished.  “Most of them were...exaggerations.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.  She sat down next to him and shuffled her feet on the tile floor.  “That probably changes things, huh?”

“You can forget I asked,” she said, and his stomach fell, which was surprising.  He had been so caught off guard by her offer that he hadn’t really considered it, but now that it wasn’t an option he was strangely disappointed.  “How you decide to have sex for the first time— that should be your decision.  Not mine.”

Bellamy swallowed and did his best to keep his voice steady.  “What if— what if my answer is yes anyway?”

Clarke’s head snapped towards him.  “Even though…”

“Yeah.  Like you said, I trust you, and it’s not like it’s something I’m saving.  But only if you still want to,” he added, because part of her decision had been made under the assumption he would know what he was doing.  “It might be a fumbling mess, like you said.”

“It might be,” she admitted, chewing on her lower lip again.  “But maybe that’s okay, you know? If you’re okay with it, I mean.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He nodded, his heart racing, and cleared his throat.  “So did you have a plan?  I mean, did you want to tonight, or…” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish.  

“I was thinking tonight, yeah,” she said, and he felt a little better when he heard her voice shake.  At least they were both nervous, he figured.  “We’re both done with finals and neither of us is moving out until Saturday, so if it’s weird or whatever we still have a few days to talk about it and it won’t be like one of us just disappears the next morning, you know?”

He chuckled.  “You really did think this through, didn’t you, princess?”

“I did,” she said wryly.  “Which is why you’re considering it, isn’t it?”

“Basically.  I can come up with something to tell Miller, if you want.  Keep him out of the room for a few hours.”

“No need.  Anya left this afternoon,” Clarke said.

Bellamy said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god he had never had a crush on who would listen.  Clarke got along with her roommate just fine, but Bellamy privately found Anya to be utterly terrifying and definitely didn't want to sexile her.  “No more angry sighs?” he asked.  

“No more angry sighs,” she confirmed.  “And pretty much everyone is on this floor tonight anyway.”

“Right,” he said.  Neither of them had actually verbally confirmed they were for sure doing this, but they were doing this.  “Should I tell them I’m leaving?” he asked, tipping his head towards the room next door.

“We already left.  Going back would just bring more attention to it.”

“And we’re keeping this quiet, right?”

Clarke looked away.  “Yeah, of course.”

He stood up and wiped his palms on his jeans.  “So...upstairs?”

Clarke took a deep breath and stood too.  “Yeah.  Upstairs.”

“Wait— do you have…uh, condoms?  Miller might have some.  Otherwise I could try and go find—” he stammered.  His brain was suddenly a klaxon shrieking  _ this is happening this is happening _ and he felt shaky and numb and he _really_ didn't want to have to go find Roan and ask him for a condom.

“I have some,” Clarke assured him.  She took his hand and that helped ground him, the butterflies in his stomach settling ever so slightly.  He nodded and followed her out of the room.

“Have fun, kids,” Roan drawled from his room, not even bothering to look up from his laptop.  Bellamy gritted his jaw and Clarke smothered a giggle.  She tugged his hand and walked up the stairs, her steps purposeful and her chin high.  Bellamy did his best to imitate her, but the butterflies returned, and when she shut the door to her room they exploded into a veritable swarm.

Clarke flicked on the lamp on her desk but left the overhead light off.  That helped, because in the low light she hopefully couldn’t see him swallowing rapidly.  They faced each other, hands still linked, and laughed nervously.  Bellamy took a steadying breath and lifted his hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Obviously, you can stop this whenever you want. No hard feelings if you change your mind.”

Clarke’s blue eyes found his.  “I know.  And same for you.  If you don’t want to do this, or you want to stop— we bail.  Friendship intact.”

“Friendship intact,” he repeated.  “I suppose we should kiss or something,” he said awkwardly, and Clarke grinned.

“That’s how I understand it usually starts, yeah,” she said, tipping her chin up in an unmistakable invitation.  Bellamy bent his head and pressed their lips together, still hesitant.  He waited for her to pull away, to say that this wasn’t working, but she didn’t.  It was chaste at first, just a gentle brush of lips but then they both seemed to remember at the same time that this was about _sex_ and not a kiss at the end of a date, and the kiss deepened.  Clarke opened her mouth to welcome his tongue and Bellamy took her face in his hands.  He tilted her head to the side and Clarke bumped into the edge of her desk— they had been walking backwards and he didn’t even realize it, but then she giggled and he took the opportunity to kiss the tip of her nose.

Clarke turned them and urged him to sit on the edge of her bed, climbing up so her knees were pinned to either side of his hips.  His hands went to her waist and he looked up, blinking at the expression on her face.  She was studying him, her eyes dark, and he never wanted her to stop looking at him like that— like she  _ wanted _ him.  Her hands on his shoulders seemed to burn through his shirt, right to his skin.

She pulled his shirt up and off in one swift movement, pushing his mussed hair back from his forehead with a fond smile that made his heart pound.  He stayed motionless as she trailed her fingertip along the line of his jaw and then down his throat, skimming across his collarbone and down his chest. Her touch was so light half of him wondered if this was a dream and he would wake up uncomfortably hard with Miller snoring across the room, but then she dipped her head to kiss him and he knew that even a dream couldn’t feel this good.  Her mouth was wet and hot and when he slipped his hands under the hem of her tank top she made a quiet noise that went straight to his groin.

Bellamy left her top on for the moment and skimmed his hands up her back, feeling the bumps and divots of her spin and tripping lightly over the clasp of her bra.  He dragged his mouth down to her pulse point and sucked.  Clarke’s head dropped back and she made that noise again, the one that made him smirk against her skin.  She leaned back and stripped the tank top off, revealing a soft pink bra just a few shades darker than her skin.  His mouth went dry and he brought his hands around to trace the lacy edge where it lay against the swell of her breast.  He kissed her sternum and her arms went around his neck to hold him in place, so he slowly kissed his way to the place the fabric began and then nudged it to the side to draw her nipple into his mouth.  Clarke gasped and he felt it in his gut, the need to hear that sound again wiping everything else from his mind.  He reached back and unhooked her bra, letting the straps fall down her shoulders and trapping it between them as he swirled his tongue around her nipple.  Her fingernails scraped against his scalp and she guided him to her other breast, his hand coming up to thumb at the now-pebbled skin.

Clarke pushed him onto his back and tried to follow but lost her balance, toppling to her side with a soft  _ oof  _ that turned into giggles.  Bellamy chuckled and did his best to tug them both up and over so her head was on the pillow, but his movements were awkward and clumsy and pretty soon they were both laughing into each other’s shoulders.  “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to regain a little control, but then he realized his elbow was pinning her hair down and they both cracked up again.  Bellamy rolled away and covered his face with his arm.  “Sorry,” he groaned, but he was grinning and knew she was too.  

“It happens, I assume,” she laughed.  He snuck a look at her and watched her kicking off her shoes until he realized he still had his boots on.

“Oh, shit,” he said, sitting up to fumble with the knots.  “Sorry, I don’t think they’re too dirty, but if your bedspread—”

“I don’t give a damn about my bedspread, Bellamy,” Clarke interrupted, curving her hand around his cheek to make him look at her.  She kissed him and then pulled away.  “But yeah, take those off before they get in the way,” she added with a sly grin.

Bellamy smirked and pulled at the laces until they were loose and tossed one boot to the ground.  But the momentum on the second was stronger than he intended and it flew across her room to slam into the door.  It banged loudly and they both froze, as if someone would burst through the door to investigate, and then broke into yet another round of giggles.

He tackled her back to the bed, their bare chests pressed together, and buried his face in her neck. He breathed her in, shampoo and perfume and a bit of sweat, and nipped at her earlobe.  Clarke lifted his chin to bring his lips back to hers.  She kissed him and gradually the nervous energy dissipated, replaced by hunger.  She rocked her hips up and now it was his turn to gasp, the friction pressing against his cock in a way that made him never want it to stop.  But he made himself pull back and rest his hand on the button of her jeans.  “This okay?” he asked, his voice more than a little ragged. Clarke nodded and helped him peel them off her legs.  He rested his hand on her knee, sliding it up her thigh to the flare of her hip, and situated himself on his side, propped up by his elbow and leaning over her.  “God,” he whispered, giving himself a minute to take her in.  She seemed to glow in the soft yellow light, luminous and _so beautiful_ it once again felt unreal.  But her skin was warm and soft to the touch and her smile was genuine, so he lowered his head and found her lips while his other hand dipped into her panties.

She sucked in a breath when his fingertip found her slit, and that turned into a long, slow moan as he eased it down to her center and back up.  She was wet and slick and he couldn’t resist bringing his finger up to his mouth for a taste.  Clarke watched him with heavy lidded eyes and parted lips, and it was almost too much.  He’d fingered girls before, but he’d never done this— he’d never really thought about it before this very second, even.  And she was tangy and sharp and  _ delicious _ and he suddenly realized this might be the only time he got to taste her, so he shut his eyes and focused on memorizing it.  She curled her hand around his neck and tugged him back down to kiss him, her tongue seeking his out and he realized she was chasing her own taste, a thought so potent he wondered if he had  _ ever _ been this hard before.

He dropped his spit-slicked finger back to her folds, pressing into her and making her back arch off the bed as he kissed her.  His thumb found her clit and he started slow, lifting his head to watch her face.  Clarke’s eyes were closed and her mouth dropped open in a silent whine.  Tendons in her neck strained and he bent down to draw her nipple between his teeth, easing a second finger into her as he did so.  Her walls hugged him snugly and he forced himself not to get too far ahead of himself but the thought of that around his cock had him picking up the pace, the circles on her clit getting tighter and smaller and faster until her thighs were shaking and quiet, needy noises were dripping from her lips.

She came suddenly, her muscles seizing and then going limp all at once while her walls clenched and released rhythmically around his fingers.  Bellamy waited until she opened her eyes to pull his fingers out and kiss her, his hand sticky against her thigh.  She kissed him lazily at first, her body soft and pliable under his hands, but gradually came back to herself, her kisses getting fiercer and her muscles growing taut.  She reached down and palmed him through his boxers, craning her head back to look at him.  “Do you still want this?” she asked, and he could have sworn he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

“More than ever,” he vowed, and Clarke rolled over to grab a condom from her desk.  He didn’t even remember her pulling it out earlier and wondered if this was what it was like to be under a spell, too caught up in the moment to be able to notice anything that wasn’t  _ Clarke _ , her skin and her scent and her taste.

He shucked off his boxers and she shimmied out of her panties, their movements making the wooden-and-metal frame of the bed rattle loudly.  She handed him the condom but his hands suddenly didn’t work right.  He dropped it, swore, and picked it back up, and Clarke reached out and rested her hand on his, stilling his fumbling.  His eyes found hers and he took a deep breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in a shy smile that she returned.

Calmer, he tore the wrapper open and rolled on the condom.  He glanced up, intending to ask her if she wanted to be on top, and caught her watching him with such a soft look on her face it almost hurt to see.  Bellamy kissed her then, because that was somehow easier, and Clarke rolled onto her back and let him settle into the cradle of her hips.  His cock brushed against her center and he could feel her heat through the latex of the condom, hot and ready.  He found her eyes and waited for her to nod before he reached down and lined his cock up with her entrance.  

He went as slowly as he could, pushing in inch by inch, his eyes locked on her face for any hint of pain.  He was trembling, just a little, and her smile was shaky too, which helped.  This felt so  _ big _ , even though he told himself it wasn’t— it was just sex and they were just friends.  She closed her eyes and he stopped moving, but she shook her head and pressed her hand to the curve of his ass to  urge him on.  “Just like that,” she breathed, and then he was  _ inside _  her and his arms shook with the weight of it all.  Nothing else in the world existed, just her walls around him, her hands roaming his back, her lips mouthing at his shoulder.

“Can I—?” he gasped, his words strangled by how much he wanted this.  He hadn't thought about it before-- hadn't  _let_ himself think about it before-- and now it was the thing he wanted most.

“Please,” she said, and Bellamy pulled back and then pushed in again.  He groaned, the friction everything he wanted, and Clarke’s breath in his ear started coming in pants.  “Please,” she said and he did it again, and then again, and then they were both panting and gasping and moaning, his thrusts coming faster and faster.

He wanted to make it last but she was just too much, too warm, too tight, too  _ everything _ , and before he knew it he was coming, spilling into the condom and tucking his face into her neck with a long, slow exhalation.  She clutched at him, keeping him close even though he was sticky with sweat and her breathing was uneven and ragged.

But a half-remembered lesson from high school health had him reluctantly reaching down to hold the condom in place and withdrawing.  This was literally the  _ last _ place he wanted to think about Mr. Pike, but he supposed this meant the man had done his job.  Clarke held out a box of tissues and he tied off the condom, balling it up in a tissue and tossing it into the garbage can under her desk.

Bellamy rolled to his side and faced her.  Clarke was worrying at her lower lip again and he wasn’t sure what the protocol was, exactly, for friends-who-decided-to-deflower-each-other, but he figured post-coital was still an acceptable time for affection.  So he leaned over and kissed her to make her stop, and when he broke the kiss she was smiling.  He smiled back, relieved, and let his hand skim up and down her side, savoring the smoothness of her skin.  “I, uh, suppose I shouldn’t spend the night, huh?” he said, clearing his throat.  He didn’t want to leave— ever— but again, Miss Manners didn’t really have a guide for moments like this.

Clarke rested her hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into it, pressing a kiss to her palm.  “It’s— it’s up to you.  I get if you want to leave, but if you don’t want to...I think I’d like that.”

A weight lifted off his chest.  “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she said, and arched up off the pillow to kiss the corner of his mouth.  “I um, have to go to the bathroom though.”

Bellamy rolled onto his back and let her clamber over him and off the bed.  She hunted around for her underwear and his eyes dwelled on the curve of her ass and the way her thighs molded into muscular calves.  She was beautiful and he'd _known_ that before, but never really appreciated it the way he should.  She grabbed a lilac robe from a hook near the door and shrugged it on, and the lights from the hallway flashed bright in his eyes as she slipped out.

Bellamy shifted so his back was to the wall, trying to make as much space as possible for her when she returned.  The room smelled like sex but the bed smelled like her, and an odd, cautious lightness bubbled around his heart.  Clarke came back and shed the robe, striding across the room to snatch up his worn blue t-shirt and pull it over her head.

“I see how it is,” he teased as she climbed back into the bed.  “You think because we had sex that’s yours now.”

“It is,” she announced.  “It’s mine, and so are you.”  Her eyes widened at her own admission and Bellamy’s heart stopped for the space of several beats.

“Good,” he said, finding his voice as his heart restarted.  “Now come here.”  He dragged her against him, her back against his chest, and kissed her shoulder where his shirt hung off her frame.

Clarke curled her fingers around his hand and kissed them lightly.  “That was pretty good for a first time,” she said, and Bellamy smiled.

“It was, wasn’t it?” he said, nosing into her hair and breathing her in again.

“Yeah.  But I bet the second time will be even better,” she said.

Bellamy’s cock twitched at the thought, and he kissed the nape of her neck.  “You’re on, princess.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Clarke’s lips on his skin woke him.  He blinked and looked down to find her drawing soft, slow kisses across his chest, her hair tickling his arm.  “Morning,” he said, his voice thick with sleep, and she smiled up at him.

“Morning,” she said, and he waited for the awkwardness to set in.  Less than 24 hours ago they were just friends— and virgins— and now he was naked in her bed and she was wearing his shirt.  But the nerves never came; just a blanket of warmth and happiness that settled over his heart.  Bellamy drew her up and maybe they both had stale morning breath but it was still the sweetest kiss of his life.

Clarke pulled herself over him and rested on her elbows.  Her hair hung like a curtain, filtering the morning light into gold, and he wondered if her eyes had always been that shade of blue or if they just looked like that now, soft from sleep and sex.  He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, their lips meeting again in a gentle dance.  “I’m glad it was you,” he clearing his throat. This felt more vulnerable than even last night but he needed to say it anyway.  “For my first, I mean.  I hadn’t really thought about who it would be but— but I’m glad it was you.”

“Same,” she replied and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Bellamy heaved a mock-sigh and toppled her off of him.  “Well, it’s been great, but I’ve got a lot of sex to have now,” he announced, pretending to sit up.

Clarke squealed with laughter and tugged him back, sliding under him just as he rolled over her.  He liked how in sync they were, how they managed to read each other’s minds as they moved.  Nothing in his life had ever come easy, but with Clarke it did.  “You think you can just fuck me and leave?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, exactly,” he deadpanned, but the joke was somewhat ruined by the way he was nuzzling her neck.  

“That’s a shame,” Clarke said breezily.  She tilted her head back to give him better access and dug her nails into his back when he drew her earlobe between his teeth.  “I was going to suggest another round, but if there’s other people you’d rather be fucking…”

She trailed off, but broke her silence with a moan when Bellamy ground his erection against her thigh.  He smirked at her and this time their kiss wasn’t soft and leisurely.  She drew his lower lip between her teeth and Bellamy growled low in his throat, his hand palming her hip.

His shirt was bunched up around her ribcage, baring the soft curve of her stomach, and Bellamy nosed the collar off her shoulder to trail kisses across her skin.  He dipped his head down and licked her nipple through the fabric, the cotton rasping against his tongue, and Clarke keened.  Her fingers speared through his hair and held him in place.  He drew as much of her breast as he could into his mouth and sucked, adding his teeth right at the end.  “Fuck,” she sighed, and he snaked his other hand up under the shirt to cover her other breast with his hand.  He rolled it under his palm, just enough to make her hips buck up against him.

Bellamy raised his head and caught her gaze, his hand drifting down to her panties.  Clarke nodded and he curled his finger into the narrow band across her hip and dragged it down.  He sat up just enough to pull them off completely and kissed the bare skin under her breast, then down her belly and pausing at the hollow of her hip to run his tongue across her skin.  He could smell her, the scent reminding him of how she tasted last night, and the dark thatch of gold hair between her legs bristled under his fingertips.  He stopped and looked up, his chin on her hip and his other hand smoothing over her thigh.

Clarke was resting on her elbows, worrying at her lower lip.  “Is this okay?” he asked.

“If you— if you want,” she said.  “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or anything.”

“But you want me to?”

She gave a breathless laugh.  “God yes.  Do you want to?”

Bellamy lurched up to kiss her, hot and messy with just a flash of teeth.  “God yes,” he echoed, because ever since tasting her last night it had been caught in the back of his brain, unable to shake loose.  “But you might have to—” he stopped and cleared his throat.  “Tell me what you want, okay?” he said, and Clarke’s answering kiss was gentle.  Kissing her made him brave, he realized, or at least it quieted his nerves.  This was Clarke, after all.  She nodded and he snaked back down her body, kissing as he went.

Blood roared in his ears and he nuzzled at her inner thigh, letting her scent fill his lungs.  He laid one arm across her stomach to hold her in place and used his other hand to part her folds.  She was a shiny, glistening pink, but she wasn’t  _ just _ pink— she was a dozen different shades, fading from a dark reddish-pink to a pale-pink and then into a soft, subtle tan-pink that was dusted with dark blonde curls.  Clarke made a noise above him— maybe a nervous laugh, or just an impatient exhale— and he dipped forward to touch her clit with the tip of his tongue.

His eyes snapped up and he found her watching him, her gaze dark, and he kept eye contact as he flattened his tongue against her.  There was that taste again, that sharp tang he knew he’d never forget, and Clarke sucked in a breath.  She spread her legs wider, planting her feet on the bed near his shoulders and dropping her head back with a moan.

He wanted to hear that again.

Slowly, watching her body for cues, he swirled his tongue around her clit, lightly at first but then harder, firmer, feeling her grow slicker with each revolution.   _ Fuck,  _ he thought he heard her sigh, and then  _ yes, that— just like that.  _  He moved down so his tongue could lap at her center, tracing the tight circle of muscles and then easing inside.  Clarke bolted up and grabbed blindly at his hair.  She fisted his curls and tried to pull him closer so he licked into her again, doing his best to conquer the triumphant smile that threatened to spread across his face and ruin his concentration.  He urged her back down with his splayed hand, stopping to tweak her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and dragged his tongue back up to her clit, chuckling as her hips followed his movement.  

His cock ached and he shifted on the mattress to try and ease the pressure, give himself just enough friction to take the edge off, and then settled back down.  He alternated between laving at her clit and running just the tip of his tongue around her center, tracing her folds in between and letting her arousal coat his tongue.  She was keening now, unable to form words— just needy, desperate noises that were his new favorite sound in the world.  His nose pressed into her curls and her nails dug into his scalp and her thighs drifted closer and closer to his ears.

That wouldn’t do, he decided, and splayed his palms across the inside of her thighs to hold them wide open.  Her folds spread under his mouth and he drew her clit into his lips and sucked, hollowing his cheeks.  He could feel her thighs shaking under his hands and he lashed at her clit with his tongue, never letting up the suction, and then suddenly she was shivering and shaking and her clit was pulsing between his lips.

He didn’t want to stop, not yet, so he thrust his tongue inside of her and felt her walls shudder around him, her moans turning into a strangled wail.  He moved back to her clit but above him she shook her head.  “Not— no— too much,” she stammered.  “Not yet.”

Bellamy stopped and kissed the inside of her thigh one last time.  His face was smeared with her come, sticky and shiny, and he did his best to wipe it off with the back of his hand as he pulled himself up to face her.

He should have known, though, that she would draw his face down for a sloppy, wet kiss that was mostly tongue, and his cock twitched at the knowledge that she was licking  _ herself _ off his lips.  “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, and to his delight Clarke moaned and nodded, driven nearly to distraction.

But then she reached down and circled her hand around his dick.  He pressed his forehead to hers and laughed weakly, letting her shift their weight until she was on top, balanced on her heels just below his knees.  She practically ripped off her shirt-- well, his shirt, but he was fine with her taking possession-- and let it drop over the edge of the bed.  She dragged her hand up and down his length, twisting her wrist at the bottom and making his hips thrust into empty air.  Clarke leaned over to kiss him, grinning mischievously, and walked her knees up until she hovered over him.  

“Oh shit— I forgot the condom,” she said, sitting back.  She reached towards the desk drawer but her arms weren’t quite long enough, so Bellamy tried to sit up and open it for her.  But he sat up at the same time as she leaned forward and their skulls cracked together.  It wasn't hard enough to bruise but hard enough to make them both swear, and then they were laughing again.  Clarke pressed her mouth to the top of his shoulder, giggling, and let him dig the condom out of the drawer, scooting back to give him space to roll it on.

But once she shoved him flat on his back and lifted herself up, their laughter died away. She lowered herself down slowly, clearly adjusting to the intrusion inch by inch.  He watched her face shift from apprehensive to open and wanting, and he stayed as still as possible, waiting for her to move.  When he was completely inside her Clarke rocked her hips forward, the movement shallow and controlled but enough to make him dig his fingers into her sides.

Clarke’s eyes were hooded and her gaze was heavy.  Bellamy felt pinned to the bed, powerless in the most intoxicating way.  Clarke rolled her hips forward again, harder this time, and he watched her breasts bounce with the movement.  She found a rhythm and leaned forward, planting her hands on either side of his head and bearing down on his cock.  He reached up to capture her lips and she jerked her head back, just out of his reach.  Bellamy whined at that and she smirked,  sitting up and arching her back, never stopping her thrusts.  The friction dragged the length of his cock and he surged upwards, his hand pressing between her shoulder blades to bring her close enough to kiss.  He succeeded this time, their teeth and tongues meeting messily, but then Clarke shoved him back down and he couldn’t help but grin.

She leaned down again, her eyes flashing.  “You liked that, didn’t you?” she said, her lips curved into a smirk.

“Almost as much as you did,” he growled, and his stomach flip flopped, because he wondered if he _should_ like that, or if it mattered that he did.  It didn’t matter with Clarke, he was sure of that, but maybe it meant something bigger.  She kept going, her cunt hugging his cock, each drag of her hips tightening the coil in his belly, and his fears faded away.  He was getting close and she seemed to know it; speeding up just enough to twist the coil past the point of no return and then he was groaning and gasping and coming, his own hips stuttering up into her.  

Clarke flopped down on him, her breath hot in his ear.  He helped her off and she handed him a tissue for the condom.  Bellamy’s brain was mush, but a slow thought stirred in the depths.  “You didn’t— here, let me,” he offered and reached down towards her clit.

“You’re unstoppable, aren’t you?” she murmured, but she rolled onto her back and parted her legs.  She was wet and sticky and he could  _ feel _ how swollen her clit was this time.  He kept his touch light on instinct and it seemed to work, because soon Clarke was making those noises again.  They were soft and low and he caught her lips with his, pressing their chests together.  Her nipples were hard against his skin and her folds were slick and hot, and this time when she came it was like a slow wave, rippling and cresting and then receding.

Clarke chuckled and he swept his thumb across her lower lip.  She flicked her tongue at it and then nipped, sighing into his mouth when he closed the scant distance between them.  The sun was high in the sky but he could feel the pull of sleep, and Clarke rested her head on the soft space between his shoulder and his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, kissed the top of her head, and then they were both asleep.

_ Bang. _  Clarke startled and sat up, Bellamy right behind her.   _ Bang. _  “Clarke?” a rough voice called.  It took Bellamy a second to place it, and he frowned.  “Look, I don’t give a shit what’s happening, but you aren’t responding to texts and your friends are freaking out,” Roan continued.  “So give me a verbal confirmation that you’re alive— and Bellamy too, assuming he’s in there—  and then answer your fucking texts.”

“It’s been like, twelve hours, Roan,” Clarke called back, smothering her giggles in Bellamy’s chest.  He just glared at the door.

“Tell that to Jasper,” Roan said drily.

“Why didn’t he come knock on the door?” she yelled.  She was clearly enjoying herself, and Bellamy kissed her jaw in spite of his annoyance with Roan.  “He lives about fifty feet away from me.”

“You could ask him that yourself if you’d just  _ answer your damn phone _ ,” he growled.  “Bellamy? You in there?  Your roommate’s in my room too, you know.  Just confirm that you’re alive and I’ll go away because believe me, I hate this as much as you do.”

Bellamy reached over the edge of the bed and snatched his remaining boot.  He hurled it at the door as hard as he could.  It slammed into the wood and bounced off, falling near the shoe he’d accidentally thrown last night.  

Bellamy didn't know until just then that it was possible to actually  _ feel _ someone sigh through a solid piece of wood.  “Be safe, kids,” Roan said at last, and the shadow from his feet disappeared from the crack under the door.

“Guess we should check our phones,” Clarke giggled.  She climbed out of the bed and picked up hers, fishing his out of his jeans and handing it over.  As Roan had implied, they each had a dozen or more texts from their friends, including Miller asking Bellamy if he was  _ ever _ coming back to the room and four each from Jasper that just said  _ SEX????? _

“I guess our friends know,” he said, shifting to make space for her to sit against the cinderblock wall.

“I guess,” she said.  She kept her face on her phone and he couldn’t quite read her expression.  “I’m sorry if— sorry if you didn’t want it to get out.”  His stomach dropped.  “I mean, I don’t give a shit if they know, but…” Clarke trailed off and glanced up at him, looking worried.  

Relief bled into his veins.  “Wait, you think  _ I _ don’t want them to know? I don’t give a shit,” he said.  “Fuck them; this is great.”

Clarke’s face broke into a grin and she dropped a chaste kiss on his cheek.  “Good,” she said, and snuggled into him.  “The good news is, I don’t leave until tomorrow.  The bad news is, looks like my mom is coming at nine tomorrow morning and I haven’t even started packing.”  She waved the hand holding her phone around her room.  The walls were covered in art and stacks of books covered half the floor space.  Clothes spilled out of her small dresser and she had half a dozen canvases leaning in the corner.

“Then I’ll stay and help,” he offered.

“Don’t you have to pack?”

“I have to put clothes in a duffle bag.  It’ll take like, two seconds.  Five, tops.”

“That’s right, I forget that you and Miller live like serial killers.”

“We might live like serial killers but packing goes a lot quicker, so who’s really winning here?” he grinned.  Clarke tried to glower at him and failed.  She dissolved into giggles and he dipped down to kiss her.  

Their friends might be freaking out, but he had no intention of leaving this bed any time soon.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely out of control but I think there's gonna be a part three now too.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an anon request for bellarke losing their virginity to each other. Title from Ben Kweller's Falling, and yes, there's like a 60% chance I've used this title for something else already but whatever, it works.


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